


What's Your Poison?

by Ladycrafter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-08-25
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:38:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycrafter/pseuds/Ladycrafter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of snapshots that are basically thin excuses to post drink recipes (I blame hiatus).  In my head canon, people acquainted with Sherlock often feel the need for liquid solace after interacting with the detective. Sherlock's also been a bit more not good than usual. Poor Molly. The Watsons decide to take action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Molly's Special

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimers - the usual. 
> 
> Drinking game - take a slug every time you come across a name you recognise, overworked cliche, angst or anything you think is funny. 
> 
> Drink recipes featured here are my creations but with the number of permutations out there, it is more than possible that a similar drink has already been invented. I have chosen each ingredient with care, some for obvious reasons. 
> 
> Confession - Just so you know, I've spent more time on the recipes than the plot & writing. If anyone's interested, I could possibly create a few non alcoholic versions. Please drink responsibly. I'd love feedback on the drinks. Enjoy. I did. Hic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Molly. Sherlock's been a bit more than no good. He's been a right git. Basically, an excuse to post drink original Sherlock character inspired drink recipes. Sherlock drives everyone to drink, eventually, doesn't he?

“Enough!” Molly Hooper jabbed a finger angrily into the chest of the man towering over her. The petite pathologist fairly vibrated with outrage. “Not another word,” she hissed just as he tried to reopen his mouth. “Just shut your gob already."

He rolled his eyes, further incensing the already irate woman. "Really, Molly, I don't think..." he started but got no further before Molly quickly interrupted him.

"That's it. Sherlock Holmes, I am revoking both your lab and morgue access,” she declared.

“You haven’t the authority,” came the cool rejoinder. Sherlock leaned back casually against the lab table with a corner of his mouth drawn up disparagingly. Molly was sorely tempted to slap that smirk off his face.

“Haven't I?" she retorted. "My lab, my morgue, my rules. Mike will back me up on this." The tall detective snorted in disbelief, making Molly glower belligerently at him. She was mad as hell and refused to be intimidated by him any longer. The more she gave, the more he demanded of her with nary a thanks or moment of consideration. Well, no more. It was about time she stood up for herself, stopped being a mat, a pushover or whatever as being nice had never gotten her anywhere with this impossible man.  Their staring match continued apace, neither giving ground until incredibly, Sherlock’s eyes flickered. It would have been imperceptible to the common observer but Molly Hooper was no mere mortal. She let out a triumphant “Ha!"

Sherlock’s confident smirk faltered slightly at this but he recovered quickly, What about my work?” he demanded petulantly. Too late he noticed Molly’s stormy expression and blinked, quickly deciding to change tack, appealing instead to Molly's overblown conscientiousness over what she saw as duty and responsibility. Pasting on an earnest look, he cajoled, "I'll need to examine the bodies that Lestrade sends in or murderers could go free. You don't want that do you? Their families need closure." He saw her face start to soften but then he put his foot in it, "Besides, I also have ongoing experiments that will be ruined."

 Her gaze hardened. "Find another pathologist,” she said uncompromisingly.

Sherlock scowled, "No one else will work with me.” He looked to the side, tapping his long fingers on the table, trying to think of a new approach to mollify the small woman,disconcerted that he no longer seemed to be able to emotionally manipulate Molly.

Molly’s mouth compressed into a thin line. “Too bad. You should have thought about that before you did what you did and topped it all off by opening your big fat mouth.”

"I'm sure I'll be able to talk Mike around," he grinned cheekily at her.

"Maybe, but you still won't be allowed access without a pathologist in attendance and it definitely won't be me," she stated flatly. “Besides, he knows I have a standing invitation from Edinburgh." She left the statement hang, the threat implicit.

Sherlock felt on surer ground now, certain that Molly was bluffing. “Oh, please, like you would ever leave Barts.” he scoffed, pushing off the table to encroach onto her personal space. Leaning down, he smiled knowingly and added,  “or me” in a low, seductive voice next to her ear,

Molly paled. He knew! He knew how she felt about him and was trying to use it against her. She felt humiliated. The position in Edinburgh seemed very attractive right now. Perhaps it was time to give it serious consideration. A sea change, that’s what she needed, a chance to start afresh, far away from the torment that was Sherlock Holmes. She'd long accepted that she'd be never more to him than his pathologist but also knew that there was never going to a chance for something more with anyone else as long as he remained in close proximity. Look at what happened to Tom.  She saw a dismal future of nothing but loneliness, more work and heartache. She swallowed incipient tears and pushed the image to the back of her mind. Gathering herself, she straightened up and looked him in the eye. “Bastard,” she whispered fiercely. “ _Thou art unfit for any place but hell,_ ” she quoted.

Taken aback by her vehemence, Sherlock’s confidence faltered when he saw in her brown eyes the hurt that he had caused. He had been certain a few moments ago that Molly would never leave Barts or London.  More to the point, she would never leave him, or would she? His heart skipped a beat at the thought and he realised belatedly to his dismay that he'd never given her an actual reason to stay. He was selfish in that he wanted her undivided attention. His work demanded it. She was the best and her uncanny ability to anticipate his needs in the lab bordered on the preternatural. Sherlock couldn’t comprehend working with anyone else. He set out to monopolise her time. To this end, he'd managed to rid all hopefuls in the romance department in his usual manner and his demands on her time effectively curtailed her social life. As a result, Molly had no boyfriend and few remaining friends. True he’d thrown her a few well timed compliments to keep her sweet but he’d also made it clear that he was unavailable romantically.The position in Edinburgh was more prestigious with better remuneration. There was nothing to keep her here. Logic dictated that she leave. This conclusion left him with a queer, hollow sensation in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like it. Sherlock reached for her, “Molly...”

She ignored him, “I am going home. I do not want to see you nor hear from you until you learn to treat me with a modicum of respect. I deserve at least that much.” Molly sidestepped him to retrieve her coat and bag from the chair next to him where she had left them.

Frustrated, Sherlock spun around on his heel, clutching his hair wildly. He tried for a modicum of calm but failed spectacularly.  “This is ridiculous. Molly, you’re overreacting. Stop being so stupid,” he spat.

Molly narrowed her eyes at him. “Not helping your case,”  she ground out between clenched teeth. She stalked off towards the door of the lab. Just as she reached for it, she stopped and without turning around, asked softly, “Did you even stop to think for one minute how it would make me feel?” She waited. Sherlock felt a pang of guilt but couldn’t find the words. She sighed and shook her head sadly. “I guess not so I suppose I don’t really matter after all,” she said in a pained voice. By the time Sherlock roused himself and started after her, she was already gone.

While all this was playing out, John Watson was standing at the back of the room trying his damnest to be invisible. In the sudden silence after her departure, John Watson looked up from his minute examination of his shoes to find Sherlock standing stock still in the middle of the room. He waited. Very slowly, Sherlock turned towards him. At his friend’s lost expression, John sighed inwardly and he unclenched his fists as his urge to punch his former flatmate diminished. He shook his head and tutted, “I make it one minute and twenty five seconds.”

“What?” Sherlock looked confused.

"You heard me.” John folded his arms. ”That’s pretty much a record, even for you.”

Sherlock stared at him incredulously. "You've been timing me?"

"I get bored too," John shrugged unrepentantly. “You usually tick people off a lot faster than that,” he admitted. “but this is Molly Hooper. Takes a lot to make her angry. Hell, the woman’s practically a saint when it comes to you but yet you managed it in under one and a half minutes of stepping foot in here.” John pursed his lips. “What you did was more than a bit not good. I did warn you.” He shook his head, “Would it kill you to be nice to the woman? She, of all people, deserves better after all that she’s done and continues to do for you.” He watched interested as a gamut of different emotions played across his ex flat mate's face: confusion, uncertainty, shame, regret, fear, sadness.  He felt a small twinge of sympathy, albeit a very small one but still wasn't sure if he didn't want to punch the man.

Sherlock’s shoulders deflated as comprehension dawned that he may gone a little too far. He looked at John with worried frown. “I've fucked up, haven't I?” he whispered.  At John's curt nod, he begged, "How do I fix this?”

“I suggest you grovel like you’ve never grovelled before.”

 

<<hiatus is boring>><<hiatus is boring>><<hiatus is boring>>

 

A fuming Molly Hooper stepped out of Barts into the cold evening air. _Git, arse, arrogant know-it-all, clot, idiot, moron, twat, dolt, berk, blockhead, toad, pillock, bastard, prat, prick, wanker,_... She continued in this vein, her language getting saltier with each word until she ran out of invectives. Molly felt somewhat guiltily about the last few. People who knew her would be surprised that she had quite so wide a range of ahem, "adjectives" but oh, he deserved them and more. Molly couldn’t wait to get home where she’d settle in on her sofa for cuddle with her cat, Toby and a glass of wine. Make that a very large glass, no, a bottle. She didn’t get very far before she felt the first icy cold raindrop on her nose and a gust of frigid wind hit. Perfect, just perfect. In her hurry to leave Bart’s, she’d forgotten her umbrella. No way was she going back for it. The ice started sleeting in earnest and within minutes, she was decidedly damp. Winter sucked. London rarely experienced nice fluffy snow, just this misery. She closed her eyes in resignation. Stuff the wine she needed something stronger. She hurried off purposefully towards the nearest Tesco.

 

<<hiatus is boring>><<hiatus is boring>><<hiatus is boring>>

 

Feeling more human again after a hot bath, cocooned in warm, flannel pajamas covered with tumbling kittens and a fluffy bath robe, Molly sank into her comfortable sofa with a sigh, clutching her drink in one hand. She reached over to her side table for her TV remote resolving to tell Mike about Sherlock first thing in the morning. Why bother the poor man now? She was still fumbling with the TV remote in her other hand when her phone rang. Putting the remote down and picking it up, she saw the caller was Mary Watson. She flicked the answer button. “Hi, Mary.”

“Hi, yourself,” came the cheerful reply. “John told me what happened and I thought I’d see if you needed a shoulder to cry on, rant, vent, whatever.”

“God, I don’t even know where to start,” moaned Molly, bringing her other hand to her forehead and almost spilling her drink in the process.

“Well, you can start by letting me in. I need to sit down. My feet are killing me. Also, I need to pee.”

Chuckling, Molly got up to let her pregnant friend in. Opening her front door, Molly found her blonde friend smiling sympathetically at her. Mary raised a bag and said, “Brought drinks. Wine for you. Juice for me. Ice cream for both. Fudge too. Lots of fudge.”

“Thanks. Come on in but as you can see, I’ve already started down the path of inebriation.” Molly waved her half empty glass in the air.

Mary stepped into the flat and struggled out of her coat. She then made her way to the kitchen and put her bag down. “Now, if you would kindly excuse me for a minute.”

Molly motioned towards her loo, “Sure, go ahead. You know where everything is.’ She slugged back the remainder of her drink and was in the middle of preparing a second when Mary re-appeared.

“That looks interesting. What is it?” inquired Mary curiously.

"A spritzer.” Molly kept building her drink.

“Is it your own concoction? I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be. Someone I dated once, created this drink for me. He was a bartender. Said I was special and he wanted me to have a drink like me; something happy and sunny but with hidden depths.”

“Sounds nice.”

Molly giggled, “The drink or the man?”

“Both?”

Molly dimpled, “This is delicious and so was he. He was irish.”

“Ah!” Mary exclaimed knowingly while pouring herself a glass of juice. The two women laughed. Tell me more,” she shooed Molly towards the sofa while observing her friend closely, seeking clues as to current emotional state. She saw the tightness in her Molly's eyes and the forced smile. Silently, she berated Sherlock for hurting her friend, again. 

Molly sat down on it, curling one leg beneath her and said, “He really was quite sweet. Laughing eyes, dimples, fit, considerate, funny, fit, did I say fit? God, he was gorgeous.  Molly smiled reminiscing. Her smile faded, “Pity it didn’t work out but he wasn’t...”

“Sherlock,” finished Mary with an understanding look.

“Yeah,” Molly nodded her head ruefully. “Does everyone know?” she asked, not really expecting an answer in the negative. She picked at a cushion on her lap.

“Sorry, yes. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who knows you except maybe the great consulting detective himself.”

“Believe me, he knows,” replied Molly morosely. "And not above using it against me." The forlorn look was back in her eyes.

Damn. “Well, then, proves he’s a git,” said Mary stoutly.

A long drawn out sigh, “I know.” To Mary's amazement, Molly suddenly doubled over laughing, clutching her pillow. Tears streaming down her face, she gasped out, "He really is". She took a few deep breaths. Calming down a bit, she said out of the blue, "I met a man the other day." She paused, sipping her drink.

Mary grinned at her, "And?" She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Molly waved her free hand in the air dismissively, "Nothing like that, unfortunately. He was a total stranger. He just wore the same cologne Sherlock uses." She continued, "So, froward hussy that I am, I asked him what he was wearing."

"Molly, Molly", teased Mary, shaking her head.

Molly grimaced, “I know. I'm one step away from turning into a stalker but in my defence even you must admit, Sherlock always smells good.  Anyhow, he said it was Green Irish Tweed by Creed." Comprehension dawned on Mary's face. " Yep," nodded Molly. "Green Irish Tweed. G.I.T.  Git by nature and now we know he smells like one too," choked the pathologist.

At least she’s laughing. "Wait till I tell John," chortled Mary. "Wonder if Sherlock even realises".

"Mary, that stuff is £200 a bottle," said Molly in hushed tones. "I dropped by Harrods the other day and checked."

The blonde cocked her head to one side, "That's surprising, how? Look at the way he dresses with his bespoke suits and Belstaff coat. Those things definitely don't come cheap."

"You'd think they'd use more fabric in his shirts for what they probably cost. Those poor buttons. It's all I can do to avoid staring. I keep expecting them to pop at any moment. It's distracting and probably makes me look like a drooling idiot. Damn it. I'm a professional woman, only when he's around, I turn into a stammering mess. He uses me and I let him. God, I'm pathetic," said Molly irritatedly.

"No you're not," said Mary firmly. "John said you actually stood up to him today and gave him a piece of your mind in no uncertain terms," she pointed out. "In fact, he was certain you were going to slap him silly again and was a bit sorry you didn't."

"To tell the truth, those slaps really hurt. My hands stung. They probably ended up hurting me more than him judging from his lack of reaction," Molly confessed.   She took a deep breath and burst out, "I've just have had it up to here with his shit. He’s been such a bastard lately. It's like he deliberately goes out of his way to upset me." Mary threw her a sympathetic look but didn't interrupt.  “He used to treat me like..." she paused, grasping for words, "...like a serf, yes, that pretty much describes it, a lowly serf, there to carry out his every command and he the despotic ruler. And God help me I let him because I fancied him. Anyway, I thought we were past that. I mean since his return, he was nice. But then, he relapsed, got shot and disappeared for weeks. When I read Magnussen had been shot, I knew Sherlock was involved in some way. I just don't know how and no one will tell me anything." She fell silent. Mary patted her hand awkwardly, feeling guilty but still wanting to keep her past a secret for now. Besides, she didn’t know how to tell the whole story without revealing Sherlock’s role in the whole sorry saga.

Molly rambled on, "The day Moriarty appeared on TV, he exploded into my lab like the bats of hell were after him. Sherlock told me before that he saw Moriarty blow his brains so what was that broadcast all about? I was so scared but he wouldn’t answer any of my questions. He just stood there and stared at me for the longest time with this strange look on his face, then turned around and disappeared again. I didn’t see him for ages. I was afraid all that time. I didn’t sleep. I was a mess."

She closed her eyes and looked away. “I thought he’d forgotten about me,” said Molly quietly. She continued, “I worried about him when there was no word. Then, one day, he waltzes in and tells me it’s he’s solved it. No explanation. Nothing, just that I didn’t have to worry anymore.  I don’t understand it. Normally, Sherlock loves to talk to me about his cases, even if only to rant. I thought maybe it was because it was connected to Moriarty which was why he didn’t want to talk about it so I didn’t want to press him for details. You know how he can get.”

Molly fiddled with her glass a bit and then looked up at her friend, “Do you know he's at Barts all the time now? He runs his experiments but won’t talk to me, When he does, he’s snippy and rude. I catch him looking at me sometimes with this really odd look like he's constipated or eaten something that disagrees with him but then he gets all huffy and storms off. The thing is I don't know if it's something I did or said..." Molly trailed off, shaking her head, “God, listen to me.”

"John said he's been snarky, well more than usual but he won't say what's bothering him. Says Mrs Hudson has been complaining about his behaviour too. Playing the violin at all hours," Mary said slowly.

“What is up with that man?” wondered Molly.

“Who knows what goes on in that funny brain of his? Come on, we’ll watch crap telly, drink our sorrows... well, you anyway.” Mary scrunched her nose as she looked down at her drink, “ I have my juice.”  She looked back up and smiled brightly, “Later, if you want, we can bitch some more about his royal high and mightiness of Greater Gitania." She sank back into the sofa and gestured towards the TV in the corner. "What’s on anyway?”

Molly switched on her telly, “Looks like an old musical, South Pacific. Looks like it’s half way through.”

“Ooo, I love that number,” exclaimed Mary just as a group of women showing a lot of leg came on screen and started singing, _"I’m going to wash that man right out of my hair and send him on his way."_  Molly looked at her wide eyed. She smothered her urge to laugh at Molly’s expression. “Got any shampoo? asked Mary wickedly.

 

Molly's Special Cocktail Recipe (1 shot/jigger/50ml)

Ingredients:

25ml Vodka citron  
25ml Triple Sec  
25ml limoncello  
25ml lemon juice cordial  
25ml orange juice  
125 ml sparkling citrus wine (or moscato)  
1 tbs Pomegranate seeds  
Stalk of mint leaves  
6 ice cubes  
3 slices lemon  
Maraschino cherry garnish  
500ml mason jar with straw

Method: 

Put ice cubes in jar. Add stalk of mint leaves and lemon slices. Fill with the liqueurs, add juice to deepen colour and top with sparkling wine. Add a tablespoon of pomegranate seeds. This will look like little drops of blood (from Molly’s wounded heart of course). Drop in a cherry or two. Serve with a plate of fresh, succulent cherries.

 

DIY Limoncello Recipe

Limoncello is very easy and cheap to make. Zest 5 unwaxed or organic lemons with a microplane zester, being careful not to get any of the white pith as it is bitter. Add to a sterilised 1 litre mason jar. Add 500ml of cheap vodka. Screw on the lid and put aside out of direct sunlight for a week, shaking the jar daily. You can actually leave it for up to a month. The longer you leave it, the stronger the flavour. At the end of the week dissolve 1 cup of sugar in 1 cup boiling water. You can increase the sugar for a sweeter limoncello or add more water for a milder drink. When cool, add to the vodka/ lemon zest mix. Leave for another week. At the end of the week, strain until the liquid is clear. Bottle. Refrigerate and serve well chilled. Drink within 2 months.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Kudos to anyone who can id Molly’s quote.  
> 2\. Lemon based drink for Molly's yellow dress. Cherries for her jumper. Bubbles and sweetness for her personality. Vodka is colourless but that doesn't mean you can't feel it or that isn't strong. I freeze my unused pomegranate seeds and that is what I use in my drinks. This drink tastes like a light spritz but packs a bit more of a punch. My photo shows strawberries because cherries aren’t in season at the moment and I’m not paying $22/kg for imported cherries.  
> 3\. Creed's Green Irish Tweed is nice though personally, I prefer Aventus. The closest knockoff at a fraction of the price is Davidoff's Cool Water. Not sure if Sherlock would wear GIT but let's not let that get in the way of a story.  
> 


	2. Herbal Soothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly is in Mrs Hudson's herbal soothers? Sherlock Holmes is not a happy man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers - the usual. Please drink responsibly. (See the end of each story for more notes).

Sherlock Holmes was not a happy man. He lay listlessly in his leather armchair, clad in a ratty, old tee shirt and blue silk dressing gown with his long pajama clad legs stretched out before him. The lanky detective blew a half hearted puff of air at an errant curl. It lifted briefly off his forehead before flopping back down. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, cradling his violin in one arm while dangling a bow precariously from the fingertips of his right hand. He hadn’t had an interesting case in weeks, nothing above a six. London's criminals were being both uncooperative and inconsiderate. The fridge in the kitchen was depressingly empty of body parts to experiment on and he was unable to get more as Molly Hooper had barred him from Barts. He'd also catalogued every single brand of tobacco ash available in England.

He was all alone in his flat with nothing to do and no one to help alleviate his ennui as John Watson was off being domestic with his wife, "nesting", he had claimed. Sherlock had retorted that the Watsons were not avians so it was a thin excuse at best. After his last emergency call, John had rushed over only to find that Sherlock had only wanted a cup of tea and couldn't be bothered to get up himself. The former soldier had informed him that he did not have the time nor inclination to entertain the demands of an overgrown five year old. Sherlock sincerely hoped it was not to be a harbinger of future behaviour. You just couldn’t get good help these days he thought despondently. Perhaps, he should not have said that last part out loud? The good doctor had done that thing with his jaw, pinched his nose, called Sherlock something rude and was about to storm out when he caught sight of a gun on the floor next to Sherlock's chair, snatched it up, called Sherlock something even ruder and stalked off to return it to DI Lestrade. Sherlock thought it all a bit of an over reaction to him keeping the gun from the last man who tried to shoot him instead of turning it over to the police. He hadn't even gotten to use it yet. Subsequently, his mood was increasingly sour.

Without a case to occupy his mind, he found his thoughts increasingly straying to Molly, unable to find refuge in his mind palace either as thoughts of the pathologist pursued him even there. While evading mind palace Molly, he rounded a corridor and tripped over a small metal box. After returning from Barts, his initial examination of his 'feelings' had alarmed him so much that he refused to proceed further. He reacted in typical Sherlockian fashion, by suppressing his emotions and stuffing them into this box. Picking it up, he noticed to his alarm that despite the sturdy lock he put on it, the hinges on the lid were threatening to give way. Sherlock frowned. What was it doing out of the vault anyway? Really, the whole situation was becoming untenable. He marched down to the vault and replaced the box on a high shelf after hammering a few more nails into the lid for good measure. He was no closer to solving the Molly problem as it were and had no idea how to apologise to her, all previous attempts having been rebuffed as insincere. He was trying! He was of still of the firm opinion that the good doctor was over reacting. Surely, what he did fell under the auspices of being helpful. A friend would have done no less. A mental image of John Watson popped into his mind, shaking his head sorrowfully, saying “You keep telling yourself that mate” and was hit by a jolt of guilt.

Sherlock re emerged from his mind palace feeling dissatisfied. If this dismal state of affairs continued any longer, Sherlock was convinced he’d go mad. The world would be deprived of his considerable talents and it would serve them right. A cup of tea at this moment would not go amiss. Still recumbent, the semi comatose detective bellowed, “Mrs Hudson! Tea!” Silence. There was no response from the flat below. He tried again, this time even louder, “Mrs Hudson! I want some tea.” This demand was attended by a small pause and then by a grudging “Please!” A few more minutes passed. A knee started jiggling impatiently. Still no answer. One blue-green eye flickered open irritably and Sherlock let out a huff of annoyance. He carefully placed his violin and bow against the side of his chair and levered himself upright out of his leather armchair. He stood still for a few moments in the middle of his sitting room surveying the mess then strode off in search of his landlady.

Letting himself into Mrs Hudson's cosy kitchen, Sherlock smiled to himself when he saw the tea, set ready on the small table before him. Good old reliable Mrs Hudson often protested that she was only his landlady and not his housekeeper but she did look after him. He wondered briefly at her absence before shrugging off the concern as immaterial. Sherlock's sat himself down and poured himself a cup from the pot, frowning a little at its surprisingly tepid temperature. A quick sniff confirmed that it was his favourite Earl Grey but there something seemed a little 'off'. Sherlock debated demanding a fresh brew but generously decidedly to let it slide just this once. It was late after all and Mrs Hudson probably wanted to retire to bed soon. He’d wait and send her out tomorrow to replenish his flat's supply? He needed milk as well. Satisfied, Sherlock grimaced at the lemon but plopped a slice in anyway. He lifted the tea cup to his lips and took a swallow of the cooling liquid whereupon he spluttered, eyes widening in surprise. Swallowed with some difficulty, he yelled in outrage, “Mrs Hudson! What ever did you do to my tea?”

A startled shriek solved the mystery of Mrs Hudson’s whereabouts. The bedroom door was yanked opened and the lady in question appeared, one hand clutching her fluffy bathrobe to her chest. “Oh, Sherlock, you startled me,” she protested. “Whatever are you doing in my kitchen this late at night?”

“I asked you for tea. You didn’t bring it so I had to come down,” grumbled her tenant.

“It's late, young man. I was getting ready for bed. Why didn’t you make your own?” she asked.

“Haven’t got any. We seem to be out. You’ll have to buy some tomorrow. I also need milk. You don't seem to have any. Very remiss. I had to use your lemon,” Sherlock frowned.

“Not your housekeeper, remember?” she chided.

Undeterred by the elderly woman's disapproval , Sherlock resumed his objections, “I repeat. What did you do to my tea?”

“Not your tea, dear. Anyway, that’s my herbal soother you’re drinking, ”

“What?” Sherlock stared at his landlady, “I always thought you meant medical marijuana.”

“No! What ever made you think that?" Mrs Hudson giggled, only slightly shocked.

Sherlock tilted his head, "Husband. Drug cartel. Fact that you're out cold every night after a dose. Hardly an implausible assumption."

"Earplugs. With that racket you make upstairs every night, it's a wonder I get any sleep otherwise,” she scolded.

Sherlock looked at his cup again. He cautiously took another sip and considered. “It really isn’t all that bad, considering, once you get past the fact that it’s not tea."

“But it is, dear. It is tea but with something special added,” she said with a wink. He tilted his head, analysing, “Alcohol." He muttered, "I always miss something.”

Mrs Hudson smiled fondly at him, shook her head and went to retrieve another cup from her cupboard. "You know dear, John can't be around all the time like he used to. He has a wife now and a baby on the way," she opened without preamble.

"Mrs Hudson" warned Sherlock, narrowing his eyes. He wasn't in the mood for motherly interference, no matter how well intentioned.

She nattered on, unheeding, "Have you considered another flatmate? it's not good for you to be alone all the time. You'll probably be lucky to find another man to put up with you like John did unless you've found yourself another boyfriend I don't know about." Mrs Hudson opened another cupboard, reached in, grabbed a plate and proceeded to pile it with Sherlock's favourite biscuits. She continued, oblivious to Sherlock's glowering. "How about a friend? What about that nice girl, Molly Hooper who's around here all the time bringing you God knows what in those ice boxes? She seems to like you well enough, enough to put up with you anyways. Probably turn a blind eye to the things you get up to. Your flat could do with a woman's touch and I can't keep cleaning up after you. Not as young as I used to be. Not your housekeeper either. Come to think about it, Molly hasn’t been around for a while."

Mrs Hudson turned around to see Sherlock sitting silent with a slightly guilty expression. Her own face fell, "Oh dear, Sherlock. What did you do now?"

Herbal Soother

Recipe Ingredients: 

  * Jagermeister Spice 
  * Earl Grey Tea 
  * Slice of lemon 
  * Mint leaves
  * cinnamon stick (optional)



Method:

  1. Start by adding a small handful of lightly crushed mint leaves to pot. Make a strong cup of Earl Grey tea. (I am going to assume you know how to make tea). Cool.
  2. In a tea cup, add a shot of Jagermeister, then top up with tea.
  3. Garnish with a wedge of lemon. Drink may be sweetened, if wished, either with sugar or simple syrup. Use a cinnamon stick as a stirrer.
  4. Serve with bikkies/ cookies.



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes  
> 1\. Jagermeister is a liqueur made with 56 herbs and spices. Urban myth has opium as an ingredient. Definitely the definition of a herbal soother. Jagermeister Spice has a touch more vanilla and cinnamon than the original.  
> 2\. Tea may be drunk hot but it would reduce the alcohol content.  
> 3\. There's a difference of opinion over whether Earl Grey should be drunk black, with lemon or with milk. I say drink it however you like.


	3. Mary's Little Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary brings John up to date on why Molly is upset with Sherlock and they decide what needs to be done.

John Watson winced when he heard the front door slam with a bang loud enough to shake the rafters, or it would have if they had had any, signalling the return of his wife to their domicile. He gave a little sigh, twisted around to place the book he was reading on his nightstand and leaned back against the headboard, bracing himself. Mary had headed off to Molly's after he recounted to her the events of the afternoon. The two women had become close during the period of Watson's temporary estrangement, Mary seeking out the pathologist for what little news the latter had of her husband when he ventured forth to the morgue with Sherlock whilst on cases.  He knew that Sherlock had been a bit not good as he liked to put it but was unclear as to the exact details. Molly had been tight lipped with him but he knew that whatever Sherlock had done must have been spectacular. His eyes tracked Mary's movements as she made her way through their bedroom, her mouth set in an unhappy moue. She tugged off her gloves and slapped them on the nearby dresser. She then shrugged off her heavy coat, tossing it over the armchair in the corner and drapped her scarf over it. Grabbing hold of the edge of the dresser and balancing somewhat precariously, the pregnant woman kicked off her shoes with and stood in her bare feet glaring at the wall in silence. He waited.

Mary breathed out slowly. "I am going to kill him," she muttered under her breath. The blonde woman turned around slowly and crossed her arms in front of her chest."Did you hear me?” she asked her bemused husband, raising her voice slightly. “I'm going to bloody well kill Sherlock Holmes, this time for real."

John took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Don't even joke about that," he responded.

Mary looked at John's pained face as still raw memories resurfaced of how they had almost lost Sherlock after she had shot him and was instantly remorseful. She climbed awkwardly onto the bed next to him and hugged him, "Sorry love," she apologised quietly.

John relaxed. "Besides, you'll have to get in line and it's long enough as it is," he deadpanned.

Mary snorted, "I know." She crawled clumsily backwards off the bed and went over to the dresser, yanking a fresh nightie out of a drawer. "I'm going to get ready for bed. It's been a long night and I'm exhausted," she said, rolling her neck.

John leaned over and picked his book back up. He stared unseeing at the words on the page in front of him. "I take it Molly's still pretty upset," he called out.

"What?" Mary popped her head round the bathroom door, clutching a toothbrush.

"I said I take it Molly's still pretty upset," he repeated.

Mary frowned and waved her toothbrush at him. "Understatement of the year. I’ll tell you in a minute just let me finish brushing my teeth at first."

John waited patiently in bed, novel forgotten on his lap, hearing a tap being turned on, then off and the toilet flushed. He looked down at his book, finally gave it up as a lost cause and returned it to the nightstand a second time. A few minutes later, Mary reappeared , wearing a flowing maternity nightgown. "I feel like I'm wearing a tent with these," she grumbled, holding out the sides. "I probably look like a mountain. God knows I feel like one." She lifted her eyes to her husband, her look challenging.  John wisely kept his mouth shut and looked at her non committedly. There was no good response to that one he'd learnt early on. Mary thought his expression looked like a deer caught in the headlights. She rolled her eyes at his cowardice and sank into bed, struggling under the covers.

Letting out a small breath of relief at having metaphorically dodged a bullet, John reached over and turned off his bedside lamp, cloaking the room in darkness. "Come here, I know your back must be hurting. Let me give you a rub." Mary shifted over to her side and John starting rubbing small circles at first before using his thumbs to apply pressure into the small of her back, then the sides of his hands scissored up and down along the outside of her spine. "Mmmm'" Mary groaned as she relaxed,  "That's feels so good."

John grinned. "You know you sound really sexy when you moan like that don't you, he whispered, trailing his fingers lightly up and down her bare arm. "Besides, I like that nightgown. Gives me easier access," he nuzzled her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to it hike his hand wandered lower.

She giggled, "Good save."

“Can't get anything past you, can I?” he laughed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, drawing her close.

Mary turned around and gave his cheek a pat, then shifted position to lie on her back and stared at the ceiling. “Your best friend is a git,” she declared.

John chuckled, "I think that his normal operating mode."

"Somehow, he's worse when it comes to Molly," said Mary thoughtfully.

"I know. I've seen him insult her often enough. No clue why. Is that what he's done again? Shot his mouth off at her?"

"If only."

"What did he do?"

"You do know he's the reason Molly broke it off with Tom?" Mary said slowly.

John nodded, "Suspected as much but she never actually said either way. Pretty much a foregone conclusion though, wasn't it? Poor bugger never really did have a chance, did he? Not after Sherlock returned. Did she say so?"

Mary hummed non-committedly, "Not in so many words. We had a nice long chat tonight. Well, she talked, I listened. Molly went through a bit of soul searching while Sherlock was away. She concluded that while he would always remain the love of her life, he would never reciprocate her feelings and determined to move on. After all, she didn't even know if she'd ever see him again. Went through the whole cycle, you know, grief, anger, acceptance, the lot. Then, some mutual friends hooked her up with Tom. He was funny, kind and the complete opposite of Sherlock."

"Except he was a virtual doppelgänger for Sherlock in the looks department. Didn't take Freud to see she was in denial and still hung up on Sherlock.  It was obvious to everyone, even Sherlock," John pointed out.

"Maybe she just has a thing for tall, dark, curly haired men," she countered, somewhat lamely.

"Who happen to be emotionally repressed, socially ignorant, obnoxious, arrogant, manipulative and rude," he said wryly.

"Hey, Tom was nice, dull but nice," yawned Mary.

"I was talking about Sherlock."

"Ah. Fair point. Actually, I was quite surprised that Sherlock left Tom alone," Mary said thoughtfully. "Didn't you say he normally tore all Molly's boyfriends to shreds?"

John laughed, "You could say that. Such a cockblocker. Prevented her from going on a lunch date at least once that I witness to and actually had the nerve to tell to stop dating for the sake of law and order or some such nonsense. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was jealous but then knowing Sherlock, he just wanted a her on call for work 24/7. What do you think? Mary?" He was answered by a soft snore. John smiled fondly and tucked an errant curl behind her ear. Their conversation would keep till the next morning he decided.

 

<hiatus is boring><hiatus is boring><hiatus is boring>

 

Next morning, Mary woke up feeling refreshed. She turned her head to the side and felt a little disappointed to see John's side of the bed empty. She'd been hoping for a bit of a cuddle. Glancing over at the alarm clock on her side of the bed, Mary made note of the fact that it was already late mid morning. The tantalising smell of bacon wafted up in from the kitchen. Stretching a little, she wriggled her toes under the warm sheets, still loath to get up. Thank god for the weekends she thought but in the end, persistent fetal gymnastics on her bladder sabotaged her attempts for a lie in. Mary addressed her bulging stomach, "Is it too much to ask, young lady, to let mummy have a bit of a lie in on a weekend?" She was answered by another hard kick. Grimacing unhappily, she got out of bed reluctantly, retrieved her fluffy dressing gown off the floor where it had fallen and wrapped herself in it. A brief stop at the loo and she was settling herself down at the kitchen table.

John looked up and smiled at her, "Good morning sleepy head. I've made you two boiled eggs and your toast should be ready in a minute." He slid the egg he was cooking off the frying pan onto a plate on the table. Replacing the pan on the stove, he grabbed a glass and opened the fridge door. Mary admired the view as he bent over to retrieve a carton. "Here you go love, a tomato and veg juice, chock full of vitamins and goodness and whatnot," he kissed the top of her head and placed the glass in front of her. "Or I could make you a very small cup of joe," he added, noticing Mary's wistful glance at his steaming mug of coffee opposite her.

"No, I'm good. I really do need to keep all the calcium I can get," Mary sighed resignedly, picking up a spoon and looking down at a generous portion of yoghurt, muesli and fruit in front of her.

The toaster dinged and John retrieved two slices of toast and placed them on a plate next to a bowl of eggs in front of his wife before pulling out his chair and sitting down. He picked his knife and fork. "One of the things that make life worth living, a full English," he proclaimed with a broad grin and proceeded to tuck into his sausage while Mary watched bemusedly. In between mouthfuls, he looked up and said, "You didn't finish your story last night."

Mary halted her spoonful of yoghurt midway to her mouth, "Sorry about that. Did say I was tired."

"So, what happened?" John waved a knife in the air. "Was Sherlock responsible after all for Molly and Tom breaking up?"

"In part. Molly doesn't think he did it deliberately. At least she doesn't think so but she's not sure. Molly told me she was quite surprised that Sherlock kept his mouth shut about Tom after she introduced him. Didn't make any Of his usual scathing deductions like he did with so many of her previous boyfriends. She thought it meant that Sherlock couldn't find anything wrong with Tom.  

“However..." Mary paused thoughtfully.

"What?" John asked impatiently.

Mary leaned her elbows on the table and continued, "When Molly and Tom actually started planning their wedding, little odd unfortunate things started to happened, one after another. Firstly, the the venue they booked turned out to be double booked and there were no available slots for another year so they had to start looking all over again, their caterer went bankrupt, the bakery that was to do their wedding cake was closed after a surprise health and safety inspection, the wedding dress she ordered was altered too small and it was the last one in stock and the printers misspelt Tom's last name. All adding up to a great many coincidences or phenomenal bad luck."

"Wow. What is it that Sherlock is fond of saying?" John asked dryly.

"The universe is rarely that lazy" Mary quoted.

"Exactly."

"So, never any proof of direct involvement but every incident bearing his fingerprints. After a while, the stress started getting to them. Molly and Tom started fighting. When Tom volunteered that meat dagger theory at our wedding, she snapped. Molly said all she could think of was she was going to be shackled for life to an idiot. I actually saw her stab him with a fork," Mary grinned and added, "They broke up soon after that."

John protested, "Sherlock cannot be held directly responsible for that." 

"Well,” drawled Mary, “that meat dagger remark sealed his fate. Since Molly was obviously having second thoughts, as far as Sherlock was concerned, it meant gloves off and muzzle removed."

"Shit, poor sod," John said, feeling a slight twinge of sympathy for hapless Tom.

"Not only did Sherlock start disparaging Tom and calling him an idiot to his face, he started to call Molly in to Barts all hours, sometimes turning up at her flat to drag her off. Sherlock went as far as demanding her assistance for experiments at Baker St. We both know that Molly can never say no to Sherlock. Naturally, Tom concluded that there was something going on between them. Sherlock even told Molly, in front of Tom, no less, that she would be unhappy in the long run and it would be best if they broke up now rather than years later with the added complication of  children.”

“Fuck,” was all John could say. He raised his cup of coffee and sipped it absentmindedly. “I don’t understand though how that ties in with yesterday. Yes, she was upset about Janine, the drugs, the shooting and all that but it was months ago. Since then, they’ve been getting along better, almost back to normal, comfortably awkward normal, “ John frowned at his the oddity of his last statement but plowed on. “You know what I mean.” Mary laughed. “She even starting dating again.”

Mary nibbled at her toast and said slowly. "Molly told me Sherlock has a habit of texting her at all hours about cases. He's even crashed her dates to drag her off to the morgue. One time, she brought a hot date home only to find Sherlock lounging in her bedroom wearing only a sheet. She was pretty sure she’d told him not to turn up that night. Definitely scarpered her plans for the night. Of all times to need to use her place as a bolt hole." She took a sip of juice and stared at it,“This would really taste better with a shot of bourbon.” 

“You know, Sherlock even told her it was unacceptable that her unrelenting pursuit of unsuitable romantic entanglements was proving detrimental to her work because it in turn adversely affected his.” John shook his head disbelievingly.

“Trust Sherlock to make it about him. Your friend is such as drama queen,” chuckled Mary.

John snorted back a laugh, “He told me later that that if she was determined on this course, that it would better to leave the choice of a partner to his far, superior judgement. He was certain he could find someone of superior understanding who was supportive of her work.” Mary’s eyes rounded at this revelation. “I informed him in no uncertain terms that it was a bad idea which could come back to bite him in the arse.” John shook his head, “Have you ever tried dissuading Sherlock Holmes from a course of action he's decided on? It's like trying to stop a force of nature. Besides, I didn’t think he was serious.” When Mary remained silent, he paused his fork midway to his mouth and looked up at her. “No, he didn’t,” he breathed.

She nodded. “Yep, he set her up with her last boyfriend,” Mary informed him with a grimace.

John looked confused. “Well, friends do that sometimes,” he said slowly. “Maybe not Sherlock Holmes but I can’t really see why she’d be so upset about being set up with a bloke. She seemed happy enough. Couldn’t stop talking about how nice he was. According to her, he was practically perfect. When Sherlock met him last week, he didn’t have anything bad to say about him although he did look like he wanted to chuck his toys out of the pram when he saw them together. Yesterday, when we came through those doors, even I could see how pale Molly was. She only spoke to Sherlock, asking him ‘How could you?’ in a quiet whisper.  He just shrugged and calmly replied that it was a controlled experiment which I took to mean he it was his first time at playing matchmaker but all then hell broke loose. I’ve never seen her so distraught.”

“She had good reason,” Mary said flatly. “He hired the man.”

John’s fork clattered to the table as he choked on a mouthful of eggs.

Mary continued, “Not only that, the man he hired to play Molly’s perfect boyfriend was a male escort, to put it politely. She found out when someone at the hospital recognised him and told her, not so politely either. She was beyond humiliated, poor lamb.“

“Bloody hell. I’ll kill him myself,” John exploded.

“I’ll help you hide the body. Seriously, what are we going to do about this. He’s really hurt her this time.”

John stood up, “I’m going over to Baker Street right now. Molly doesn’t deserves this. She’s my friend too. That bastard’s gone too far this time.” he said tightly.

“Wait.” Mary put her hand up. “Think about it for a moment. Sherlock pulls Molly’s pigtails all the time, throws stones, runs interference and chucks a wobbly whenever she even looks at another man, going as far as setting her up with a non-threatening, fake boyfriend whom he controls. What can we conclude from all this o love of my life?" she grinned.

John stared at his wife with his mouth open. “You mean,” he said incredulously.

Mary’s shit eating grin widened further and she nodded furiously, “It does explain a lot. He fancies her.” She clasped her hands in front of her bosom and exclaimed theatrically, “Oh, darling, our little boy is discovering girls. One girl, in particular, anyway.” She wiped away a fake tear, “They grow up so fast.”

John snorted. “He probably doesn’t even realise it and even if he does, you’ll never get him to admit to it. Hell will freeze over first.  Married to his work and all that. ” he warned.

She smiled fondly, “That’s our detective. Clear winner of the emotional retard of the year award, if there was such a thing. Probably came up with all sorts of logical reasons for his actions” Mary rolled her eyes and commented. “For a genius, he can be a bit of an idiot.”

John sat down heavily, “What do you want to do about it?” he asked narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, I have some ideas,” Mary said innocently. “He fancies her, yeah? She loves him, no idea why. They’re perfect for each other. I’d really like to get one child settled before I bring another into the world. ”

“He doesn’t deserve her.”

“I know, love. That why we going to make him suffer a bit first.” Mary looked at her husband with a glint in her eye, “I’m going to call in a few favours. Meanwhile, do you fancy some soup for lunch?”

 

**Drink Recipe: Sweet Mary**

Ingredients:

  * 15ml Tomato juice (to indicate Mary's bloody past)



  * 15ml Orange juice

  * 15ml Honey bourbon (nod to Mary's supposed American origins)

  * Black pepper

  * Sea salt (pink Himalayan or black Cyprus)

  * Sour cream

  * Shot glass




Method

In a shot glass, layer bourbon, orange and tomato juice. Add a dollop of sour cream. Grind fresh black pepper and sea salt over top. Add a fresh oyster if you like.

 

**Recipe for Tomato Soup with mussels**

Ingredients:

  * Can of Tomato soup

  * Mussels

  * Orange juice

  * Sour cream

  * Black pepper

  * Slice of orange

  * Parsley




Method

Heat up tomato soup. Substitute orange for water. Add mussels. Serve with a slice of orange in the middle. Dot sour cream around orange slice. Grind fresh black pepper. Finish off its a sprig of parsley.

Notes

  1. Above makes a great hot soup with the addition of mussels.

  2. If you Increase the quantity, add mussels and serve hot with crusty bread, you will have a great tasting soup.




 

**Author's Note:**

> Will try and post once weekly or fortnightly or until inspirations runs out. Suggestions welcome.


End file.
